Indigo Springs Hike

 Sunday, Mark and I ditched The Child -- or was that the other way around? -- and took a hike to Indigo Springs, which is part of the headwaters of the Middle Fork of the Willamette River.

The spring isn't the single source of the river, which I'm guessing is a little ways up-stream, but is one of several springs and sources.

Mark followed the directions from a Bill Sullivan guide book, and about ninety minutes later we were pulling into a cute little campsite at Indigo Springs.

There's a very short loop around the springs.  The top is a five foot long bridge over a stream bed which was dry when we were there, but I expect is a major drainage during the rainy season.  Right underneath the bridge, water seeps up from the ground.  A little further downstream, more water gushes out from between fir roots.

The whole place wove a sylvan enchantment.  Being there reminded me of the public ritual Starhawk led about sixteen years ago, where the god was called as the Willamette River.  The springs rejuvenated Mark, which was a pleasure to be present for.

We attempted to follow an old wagon trial, but it soon became lost in the underbrush, so we opted to take a more robust trail along the Middle Fork's current.

We crossed the road and struck the trail along the river.  Every so often we'd cross a contributing brook splashing down from a convert, or the seeping flow from of a bank-side spring.  We were looking for Chuckle Spring, but we were unsure which tributary it was.

We saw ground squirrels, and some very small birds, and a slug.  All the other animals remained unseen.  Other than one or two folks sitting at various camp sites, we saw no other humans.

 The north(?) side of the river we hiked along was verdant.  We saw lots of Oregon grape; firs, cedars, vine maples, and the occasional oak.  Moss coated the basalt rocks, roots, and fallen trees.  We found something that Mark called an orchid, and every now and then we encountered a leafy lichen growth.

Along the other side the blackened trunks of cedars showed where previous years' fires had burnt the forest.

Along the way back, we stopped at Boulder Creek to take a closer look at what Mark called a fire tanker refill station.  It looked like a pipe which had been sunk into the creek farther upstream, but I couldn't see the actual water collection site.   There was a valve which was tempting to pull, but the whole construction looked old -- like a forgotten piece from a "Thomas the Tank Engine" set -- and I didn't want to risk having it get stuck on and inundating the road.

On the way home, we took selfies of ourselves eating ice cream and sent them to The Child (we had attempted to bribe him onto the hike earlier, but he declined).